The past that haunts us
by Guinevere81
Summary: Sherlock is invited with John to John's parent's aniversary party. It turns out John has inherited his ability to punch people from his father but his care for the wellbeing of others is entirely his own. Meeting John's dysfunctional family from Sherlocks point of view. Warnings for Violence


I do of course not own Sherlock and John and John's mum and dad are entirely figments of my imagination.

Revised version with shorter paragraphs after some kind advice from Ballykissangle.

Sherlock would never claim that he had ever had much interest in Johns past. The whole idea of Afghanistan was interesting but only in so far as it had turned John into a crack shot and explained the strange symptoms of a psychosomatic limp and a tendency to wake up shouting occasionally. Anything from John's actual childhood had never interested him in the slightest. Therefore when the invitation to his parent's anniversary party arrived addressed to the both of them in a florid and clearly female hand he was surprised and a little confused. "Why is your mother inviting me to her anniversary party?" he asked John had turned unusually silent and was fussing over the kettle. "I suspect that following Harry's revelation she may be assuming that you and I are more than just flatmates." He stated slowly as he brought out two teabags "You don't have to come obviously, I'll explain everything". John sounded a little sad as he spoke and it caught Sherlock's interest. He decided there and then that this was an excellent opportunity to fill in the gaps in his knowledge of John's family history. After all, he had never met any of his family and research was certainly something that he found valuable.

When the date rolled around he was surprised to find that John was not at all enthusiastic about having his company to the party. He stalled and questioned, explaining how boring it was going to be and pointing out over and over again that Sherlock really didn't have to come just because he had been invited. This intrigued Sherlock, he got the distinct feeling that there was something that John really did not want him to find out about his family and that made the excursion all the more interesting. When they were finally in the car on their way John turned to him with a worried look on his face. "Sherlock, please try to not antagonize my father. Mum will love you and well, Harry is Harry but please don't be too brilliant with my dad. He doesn't… well, he doesn't deal well with being challenged" Sherlock didn't respond beyond a slight nod but he filed this information away into the room in his mind palace labelled 'John'.

There were a lot of people present at the party and the average semi detached house was filled to the brim, spilling over into the garden. Thankfully the weather was pleasant and seemed likely to hold out for the remainder of the day. Sherlock felt a little uncomfortable as he was introduced to aunts and uncles and friends of the family before finally a small woman in her sixties came bustling over all grey hair and floral dress and threw her arms around John. "Oh Johnny dear, you came, and you brought Sherlock, I'm so pleased" she turned to Sherlock and while he extended his hand she promptly ignored this and wrapped her arms around his middle squeezing him tight. "I'm so glad you came" she smiled up at him. "Yes, well, mum I think we need to clear some things up." John said but was ignored by the petite woman "It is nice to meet you too" Sherlock offered, as always ignoring any suggestion that he and John may be an item. What after all was the point in remarking on people's stupid mistakes, people made stupid mistakes all the time, if he was to make note of all of them it would take up all of his time, better to ignore the majority of the less offensive ones. Therefore John never did get the chance to explain that Sherlock really was just a flatmate before the small woman was caught by the arm by one of the other guests and ushered away.

The next half an hour passed in a blur of introductions and appalling food that really belonged a decade or two ago. Who ever served pineapple and cheese these days? People were getting a little tipsy and the sound volume had risen to a muffled crescendo. Then suddenly raised voices could be heard from upstairs and John tensed at his side. "Stay here. Whatever you do don't come upstairs" John ordered in a stern voice as he made his way across the room and disappeared up a narrow staircase.

Several people shifted uncomfortably and someone turned the music up louder to drown out the sounds of yelling coming from above. Sherlock could tell that the rest of the room was not surprised at this turn of events but several of the guests were shifting uncomfortably and a few of them took their coats and left. He moved closer to the stairs trying to make out the muffled shouting from above. John had said to stay away but it went against his nature to follow orders and stay away from trouble, even if it was the domestic argument kind of trouble that normally would not interest him. "You're a disgusting piece of filth. You're not my son, your whore of a mother clearly got the spunk to produce you from some pathetic little sissy." The low voice of a man Sherlock did not recognize but supposed must be John's father pounded through the music. "Dad please, it's not like that, we're not…" John did not sound like himself, his voice was broken and hesitant. There was the soft sound of a woman crying and then the thump, thump of flesh being pounded and Sherlock didn't hesitate any longer.

He threw himself up the stairs to find an image that would forever remain in his mind. John was crouched on the floor backed into a corner looking like a frightened child curled in on himself while a man Sherlock had seen earlier in the evening but not been introduced to was stood above him kicking him ferociously. His mother was standing with her back pressed against the wall sobbing with hands covering her face but making no attempt to separate her husband and her son.

Sherlock pounced on the man attacking his flatmate, surprised at how easy it was to subdue him. He was not strong, had no real muscle strength. It seemed odd to Sherlock that John had not been able to just overpower him himself. He knew how good John was at fighting and the old man in Sherlock's grasp with his chest heaving and his slurred insults should have been no match for his friend. This did not change the fact that John was curled up in a tight ball shivering as the disgusting drunk tried to wrestle free from Sherlock's hands while he shouted perceived insults of faggot and sissy at his son and Sherlock alternately.

"Please don't" John's mother pleaded and then suddenly there was another man storming into the room about the same age as John's parents and sporting a tattered tweed jacket and thick glasses. He looked like the stereotypical professor but his effect on the raging man in Sherlock's grasp was immediate and surprising. "Martin, stop it, get yourself together" he stated calmly and the room grew suddenly still. "Come with me, we're going for a walk" he continued and extended his hand to grasp John's fathers arm. Sherlock reluctantly let go and watched as the two exited the room.

Sherlock slumped to the floor next to John running careful hands over his friends trembling frame. "John, are you alright?" he asked even though he knew the question was stupid, of course he was not alright. "How badly did he hurt you? Should I call an ambulance?" he tried. At least these were slightly more productive questions. John shook his head and slowly raised his eyes to look at Sherlock. "I'm ok, sore but ok. I'm used to it." He stated calmly and a chill ran up Sherlock's back at the implication of those words.

"Oh, John, I'm sorry" his mother whimpered and then rushed out of the room sobbing. "Can we just go home?" John asked his voice tired and pleading. "Of course." Sherlock wrapped an arm around his back and helped him to his feet where he stood for a second holding onto the bed frame to steady himself.

They walked slowly to the car, John trying to hide the fact that he was limping slightly, politely saying goodbye to everyone they passed. Anger was surging through Sherlock with unexpected power but he forced it down staying always one step behind John. Most people would say that he was hovering, Sherlock liked to see it as being protective.

He wasn't just angry at John's father for having hurt him but at himself for having obeyed when John told him to stay away. He should have been able to tell, he should have prevented this from happening.

When they finally reached the car John slumped down in the passenger seat eyes closed and arms wrapped around himself as Sherlock started the car and directed them back toward London. "This isn't the first time, is it?" Sherlock asked and John turned to stare out the passenger window. "Why do you even ask when you already know the answer?" John's voice was low and sad but steady none the less.

Sherlock didn't know why he asked, except it seemed the thing to do. Of course he knew that the kind of violence that he had witnessed was never a one off, and based on John's and his mother's reactions it was probably something of a routine between them. It required no advanced skills of deduction but there were so many complicated emotions involved that Sherlock felt uncertain of quite how to piece the knowledge together.

"Has he always hit you?" he asked feeling that the question was not quite right but not knowing what would be right. John shook his head. "He always directed his anger at mum, until I got old enough to want to prevent it, then he switched targets. He's never really cared who he vented his anger on, as long as he had a convenient punching bag." John let out a small laugh which made Sherlock cringe.

"That is why you went up there today! You heard them arguing and you went in there to take the beating instead of her." It was not a question but a statement of fact but John confirmed it with a slight nod of the head. "I was so used to him taking his anger out on me I didn't think that when I left he would go back to…" John's voice broke and there were tears trickling down his face. "My god Sherlock, what kind of son am I to leave her alone with him all these years. I should have gone back, I should have helped."

He wiped at the tears ashamed to show his weakness but unable to stop the panic that was rising in his chest. "We have to go back." He sat up straight finally turning to look at Sherlock "We can't leave her alone, we have to stop him. He still thinks I'm gay, he'll kill her, you have no idea what he was like when Harry came out" his hands were clenching and unclenching in his lap rhythmically but Sherlock only shook his head. "No! You are never going back to see that man again. I will get Mycroft to send someone to help your mother out."

John grasped his hand on the steering wheel and Sherlock instinctively stepped on the brake, bringing the car to a stop. "You don't understand, she won't leave him, I've tried." John looked so scared it broke Sherlock's heart to see him with tears coursing down his face and hands trembling. He had survived war and murderers, fought criminals on a daily basis yet his family could reduce him to this and it made Sherlock so immeasurably angry.

"Trust me John…" he placed a hand on his friends face wiping away tears "… Mycroft has the ability to start wars and eliminate terrorists; he will deal with this, one way or another." John shook his head but did not protest when Sherlock started the car again and continued toward London. He wiped angrily at his face swiping away the tears and they spent the rest of the drive in silence.

As soon as they were safely within the flat Sherlock fished out his mobile and called his brother. For once he had no trouble in asking for help. Mycroft was wonderfully pleased at hearing his brother ask for a favour but the smugness drained away from his voice when he was told the details of said favour. Sherlock stood in the middle of the room watching John make tea as he recited the events of the afternoon and what John had revealed to him in the car.

John's eyes were dry now and his hands no longer shaking but he was holding himself awkwardly moving with slight hesitation as he reached up for the mugs. It made Sherlock feel strangely uneasy, almost like that night at Baskerville after he had thought that he had seen the hound. There was an unpleasant pressure behind his ribs that he could not quite put his finger on, and it grew tighter as he heard Mycroft say that of course he would try to help out but really this was not a matter for the government and John should really press charges against his father. "I see, do what you can." He said sternly before he rang off and approached John, placing a hand on the shorter man's back unintentionally making him wince.

"Let me see, he tugged at Johns shirt hesitantly as John stirred milk into their tea but John pulled away. "No, It's nothing, I'm fine" he mumbled and Sherlock fixed him with a stern look. "You're not fine, and if it's nothing you have no reason not to let me see. I have seen you without your shirt on before, no reason to be shy now" Sherlock reached for Johns buttons but John swatted his hand away, spilling some of his tea as he did so, but he put the mug down again and with a small sigh started to undo the buttons himself.

He slipped off the shirt and hung it on one of the kitchen chairs turning to allow Sherlock to poke and prod him. He had dark red marks all along his side and disappearing into his trousers at the hip and his elbow and lower arm looked painfully swollen where he must have tried to fend off the blows. "Are you sure nothing's broken?" Sherlock asked as he brushed careful fingers over warm skin making John shiver slightly.

"Well, clearly a fair few blood vessels are broken but no bones and I'm guessing that's what you mean. I'll be black and blue for a week or two and then I'll be absolutely fine" John forced a smile but Sherlock did not find his attempts at humour the least bit funny. "I'll get you some ice." He said and they settled down in silence. Neither knew how to broach the subject any further.

An hour later John was asleep in his chair the ice all but melted in its bag when Sherlock received a text. 'He has been spoken to. If further incidents occur should more drastic action be taken?' Watching his sleeping friend Sherlock did not hesitate for more than a second before he fired off a simple 'Yes'.

The next day John was already back at work, moving stiffly but otherwise giving no indication of the previous day's drama.

Sherlock spent the whole afternoon at Bart's analysing bruising patterns in domestic abuse cases. He never would have admitted to John that this was what he was doing and Molly was a little confused by the strange request but wheeled out the body of a young woman who had recently killed herself after being repeatedly beaten by her husband.

He returned to Baker Street that evening with the pressure in his chest almost gone thinking that he may actually be happy to eat a bit if John was, as he expected, currently at home cooking. No smell of cooking greeted him as he entered the building; instead there was a slight smell of whisky and a mumble of shouted voices coming from upstairs.

He took the steps two at a time and threw himself through the door feeling an unpleasant sense of dejavu from the previous day as he entered the flat and found John pressed up against the kitchen counter his father looming over him. The man was rambling incoherently about "ruining my life, and should never have been born" as he swung at John with, of all things, the metal stand from Sherlock's chemistry equipment which lay shattered on the floor.

He would have been angry at the destruction of his equipment and the experiment that had been nearly a week in the making if he had not been more concerned at the blood flowing freely down Johns face and the sound of metal hitting flesh followed by John's whimpered pleading of "I just don't want you to hurt her."

He hurled himself at the old man wrestling the stand from him and punching him repeatedly. "Sherlock don't, you'll kill him" John said and placed a hand on his shoulder holding him back and he looked up into John's sad blue eyes and released the dazed man below him holding back his next punch.

Instead he grabbed him forcibly by his jacket and dragged him down the stairs dumping him unceremoniously on the front step where he sat looking rather unimpressive and bleeding heavily out of his nose and onto the pavement.

Sherlock slammed the door on him and returned to the flat to find John slumped on the floor one arm cradled tightly at his chest and the other sweeping at the remains of Sherlock's experiment. "I'm so sorry, I'll replace it" he mumbled as Sherlock entered. His voice was low and his eyes seemed miles away, not looking up at Sherlock but not really paying attention to the broken equipment in front of him either.

"Leave it John, it doesn't matter" Sherlock crouched down next to him prying an unbroken test tube from him and guiding him to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. He wet a moderately clean tea-towel and wiped at the cut on John's forehead. John didn't wince or flinch like Sherlock had expected, he just sat there stoically staring at a point beyond Sherlock.

"Right I'm taking you to the hospital" Sherlock stated with firm determination. John shook his head and swallowed uncomfortably.

"Mycroft threatened him." He said finally but still didn't look up. Sherlock flinched slightly at the mention of his brother's name and it took him a second to figure out that what he was feeling was guilt. He had dragged Mycroft into this and it was Mycroft's threats that had brought a man who had previously had no intention of visiting Baker Street into their flat with the express purpose of taking his anger out on John.

"Mycroft didn't scare me, well he did a little at first, but I don't understand why he would think he would have any more effect on my dad." John continued but Sherlock ignored him in favour of placing a few butterfly bandages on the cut on John's forehead.

"Right, if you're not going to the hospital you better show me where else you're hurt" Sherlock ordered and this time John didn't stop him as he started to unbutton his shirt. He reached to pull John's hand away from his chest to get to the lower buttons and John let out a whimper and his face went an unpleasant shade of grey.

"John, can you move your fingers for me?" he tried, and John looked up at him in confusion and then down at his own hand. "No." he stated frankly and Sherlock could feel him starting to tremble as the adrenalin drained out of him. "Right, hospital, now" Sherlock ordered and wrapped an arm around John to steady him as he stood. "Christ it hurts" John moaned and even though Sherlock felt bad for John's pain it actually felt better to see him acknowledge it rather than the detached oblivion he had seemed to be in a minute ago.

When they got outside John's father was gone which was a relief and Sherlock hailed them a cab which he directed to the A&amp;E at UCH. They rode in silence with Sherlock keeping a wary eye on John who was sitting with his eyes closed shivering slightly. The strange lump in his chest was back again and it felt like it was going to burst when he saw the furrows of pain on John's forehead.

They got out of the car and John stood swaying slightly as Sherlock paid the driver. "Don't tell them who did it." John said as Sherlock turned around to face him and the taxi drove off. "I won't, but you should do it yourself" Sherlock stated firmly and stepped closer to John to guide him inside. "No, Sherlock, it's spinning, I'm going…" he never finished the sentence as his legs gave out and Sherlock had to grab him to stop him from bonelessly hitting the ground. He scooped John up, relieved that he wouldn't have to carry him far and pushed through into A&amp;E.

As it turned out fainting was a convenient way to get fasttracked and it was not long until two nurses and a doctor had converged on them and were fussing over John shining a light into unseeing eyes and cutting his shirt off him. Sherlock chewed his lower lip in frustration as John's clearly broken arm was revealed. It had been bruised and swollen from the day before and now it was twisted at an unnatural angle which fascinated Sherlock even though he knew it was probably something John would have described as 'not good'.

"Probable compound fracture, we need x-rays. Do the chest as well" the doctor directed at a nurse who was scribbling on a piece of paper. As his arm was prodded John gave a slight moan and his eyes fluttered open. "Welcome back, do you know what happened?" the doctor asked him in a professional voice. "I got jumped, didn't get a good look at him. He hit me with a metal stick thing. Wanted money but I didn't have any." John lied convincingly but Sherlock could tell that the doctor was not convinced. The bruises on John's chest and elbow had already started to turn dark and he would obviously be able to tell that they were not from the same attack as the broken arm. "Why did you have your head bandaged before coming in?" the doctor asked suspiciously. "Didn't realise the arm was broken, too much adrenaline, I couldn't feel it properly. I didn't want to go to hospital. He helped me" John waved his uninjured arm vaguely in the direction of Sherlock who was rewarded with a thoughtful glare from the doctor. It did not take genius to figure out that he suspected Sherlock of being the one to have given the beatings.

Sherlock didn't say anything for now though, better get John seen to first and they could discuss legal action once John no longer looked in danger of passing out again. Sherlock walked by John's bed as it was wheeled away to wait for x rays of his arm and chest watching as the pain medication took effect and John fell asleep only to wake again when the nurse manhandled him into the x-ray machine.

It was past one in the morning when John was finally safely tucked away in a room on the orthopaedic ward and they could switch their phones on again.

He would need surgery on his arm in the morning but none of his ribs were broken, merely bruised and the doctor was not overly concerned about repercussions from the headinjury although they would be keeping an eye on him through the night to ensure that he was alright.

John fumbled with his phone feeling clumsy using his right hand and with the pain medication affecting his dexterity. "Can't that wait for tomorrow?" Sherlock asked as he watched John struggle. "I want to leave a message for work to say I'm not coming in tomorrow" John mumbled, his eyelids heavy. He finally got the screen to light up and before he could get the number to the clinic up it chimed with an answering machine message, and then another, and another.

He frowned and dialled the machine which told him he had five new messages. "Hello, it's mum, call me as soon as you get this, something terrible has happened" she sounded like she was crying and he frowned as he waited for the next message.

"Hi John, it's Harry, I'm at mum and dad's call me as soon as you get this, it's important" worry grew in the pit of his stomach and he no longer felt quite so tired.

"John, why aren't you answering, please tear yourself away from that insufferable flatmate of yours for one evening. Call me now" Harry sounded angry and John felt himself grow tense.

"You're a git, do you know that, why won't you pick up the phone" she was slurring now, she had clearly been drinking and John was flustered enough by the cryptic messages for Sherlock to notice. He came closer to the bed and looked questioningly at John as the last message played

"Fuck you John, dad wrapped his car around a tree tonight and you can't even be bothered to answer your phone. Oh, and he's dead by the way, we're rid of the bastard at last." And Harry giggled hysterically between sobs and then the recording ended.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock placed a hand gently on the blanket covering John's legs but John only stared blankly at the phone in his hand. "John?" he tried again.

"He's dead" John stated calmly with a voice that was more steady than he had expected it to be. "A car accident after he left London tonight."

Sherlock did not know what to reply. Emotions were not his strong suit but he had the feeling that 'Good' would be seen as a heartless response in lieu of it being John's father who had died, and 'I'm sorry' seemed equally wrong in the face of the fact that John was lying in a hospital bed awaiting surgery because of the bastard so he said nothing.

Silence filled the room for a minute as John kept staring at the phone and Sherlock contemplated the least offensive thing to say. Finally John put away the phone and looked up at Sherlock. "Please go. I want to be on my own." He said still as calmly as before and Sherlock finally found his tongue. "Is there anything I can do?" and to his surprise John nodded. "You can call Sarah and tell her I won't be in tomorrow. Tell her I had an accident and I'll be fine. Don't give her details. I will figure out what to tell everyone in time but right now I have to call Harry and mum and I don't want you here for that."

Sherlock slipped on his coat and did as he was told. When he got outside the hospital he turned on his own phone and an expected message flared up on the screen. 'Permanent action taken'. He deleted the message. He would never tell John about it but he was secretly pleased to know that the insufferable man was no more and that pending John's surgery the next day and some possible hassle with funeral arrangements all would be well, John and his mother would be safe.


End file.
